


Things We Know by Heart

by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Epistolary, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Letters, Long-Distance Friendship, Mutual Pining, Pen Pals, Post uni attack, Writing is Robin's therapy, army!Strike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: After Robin's uni attack, her therapist suggests that she find an outlet for her thoughts and feelings; thus, leading to a years-long anonymous correspondence with an active-duty army soldier. Will Robin be able to separate the feelings in her heart from the words on the page?
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 73
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be an ongoing fic of simple letters between Strike and Robin in an AU-type setting. Following the prologue, it picks up six months after Robin's attack (I've fudged the dates a bit). 
> 
> Big thanks to @mysteriousphoenix and @SeeBeeStrellacott for beta-ing and being my sounding board! 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Prologue_

The warm July morning was humid, and beads of sweat formed along the back of Robin’s neck, causing wayward strands of hair to escape her smooth, red-gold ponytail. She’d donned denim shorts, a comfortable short-sleeve top, and well-worn trainers that were sure to withstand a day of moving boxes and furniture from the upper floors of Denmark Street. 

The building’s owners had bought out the majority of the area, including where Strike’s now booming private investigative agency had resided for the last several years. Many things had changed for Robin in this very building. Strike had hired her, she’d received a body part from a serial killer, she’d stood up for herself against Morris, and she had shared...so very much with the man behind it all, Cormoran himself. 

This building held a modicum of memories for her, from longing glances and flushed cheeks over too much whisky, to nights where they burned the midnight oil together, conducting research and interviewing witnesses. With Strike, she’d shared many a beer, biscuit, and takeaway. Robin smiled sadly to herself as she opened the door to the office and peered around. The space was wall-to-wall boxes, full of files, supplies, and odds and ends that they’d packed over the previous weeks.

It was an all-hands-on-deck kind of event consisting of herself, Sam and his wife, Andy, Pat, Michelle and her wife, Strike, and Strike’s sister Lucy, and her family. Everyone was to participate first in the emptying of the office, then in the emptying of Strike’s small flat above the office, until there was nothing left. They would then drive the moving truck to a new part of town to set up shop the following morning.

As the day progressed, the group dwindled sporadically; Lucy’s boys grew restless, Michelle and her wife had to get home to their new baby, and Sam had nearly thrown his back out carrying the sofa. By early evening, nearly all the boxes and furniture had been moved, save for a few small things from Strike’s flat. Strike had agreed that he and Robin would move the remaining boxes and items and lock up the truck for the night. 

While Strike bid his family and employees goodbye, Robin headed back upstairs to begin the process of sweeping the floor of Strike’s flat, which was rather dusty after the removal of a few rugs. As she reached for the broom, Robin’s eyes were drawn to a bundle of papers atop the shelf of the small closet in Strike’s living area. She walked over to the closet and stood on her tip-toes, reaching for what she now saw was a mass of faded envelopes bundled together with cheap twine. She coughed a bit at the dust that had fallen from the surface of the envelopes as she brought them down. 

After wiping off her hands, she turned the stack over, revealing faded pen marks that spelled out names and addresses:

_To: Mr. John Doe..._

Robin gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth in shock, the stack of letters falling to her feet and landing against the faded and dusty hardwood floor.

***

_23/5/2005_

Dear Soldier,

I hope this letter...finds you. That line would usually end with “well,” though I can't imagine that anything about combat makes anyone, least of all you, “well.” So for now, I'll just be pleased if this makes its way to whoever it’s meant for. I guess that's a start, right? 

Have I already buggered this up? It feels as though I might have. I'm sorry if I have...and I'm sorry for saying buggered again. I have uni to thank for my colorful choice of words, and my brothers, I suppose. As the only girl in a family with four children, you can imagine the kinds of things I heard from a young age...

I haven’t done this before, sending a letter to someone I’ve never met. My therapist says it’ll be good to have an outlet for my thoughts. A therapist - now I realize I’ve just gone and made myself sound like a crazy person! I swear I’m completely normal! Which sounds exactly like something a crazy person would say. I’m not sure how personal to go with this, so I’ll just keep it general for now. I’ve suddenly found myself with a lot of time on my hands, though not by choice. So I suppose corresponding with you will give me something to look forward to when the days seem long or lonely.

A little about me - I’m currently in uni but I’m taking a year-long sabbatical. I live in the country and spend most of my time with my dog, a very special boy. I like to read, write, and go for long drives on the country roads. This sounds like a personal advert now, though I suppose Ido like long walks on the beach.

Now that I’ve spent the majority of this letter rambling about myself in the most awkward fashion, please, tell me a little about yourself? As much as you can without revealing too much. Who are you as a person? What do you like? How do you stay busy? I look forward to hearing from you. I truly hope you will consider writing me back. 

Until then, all the best!

Sincerely,

A friend x.

***

_10/6/2005_

Dear Friend,

Hello. Your letter has indeed found me and intrigued me, so I guess that is a start. No need to apologize for your choice of words. I’m in the army - I’ve heard far worse words than “buggered,” rest assured.

I should start off by informing you that I’ve received many letters like yours over the years, from well-meaning citizens whose aim is to cheer up us “lonely” soldiers. I have not once responded to any of them. Until now. 

Though your letter was like theirs in nature, in execution, I found it to be very different. I found myself laughing throughout the entire first read-through, and even after that. For that reason, I felt that it warranted a response, even if just a simple ‘thank you.’ Truth be told, I found myself coming back to your words every so often, even if just for a brief chuckle before bed. So, here I am, after careful consideration, also writing to a complete stranger. 

You should know, having a therapist doesn’t mean you’re crazy. I know plenty of men here that are seen regularly by the squadron’s counselor. Myself included. Sometimes it’s good to have an outlet for those negative feelings, or even someone to share the positive feelings with. Though I’m sorry to hear that you have so much unoccupied time, I am interested in learning what led you to your correspondence with me. How did your therapist find out about the program? What made you decide to do this, as opposed to volunteering wherever you are? I will say, I think I’m truly the beneficiary here if all your letters will be as hilariously painful as the first.

What were you studying at uni? I suppose that’s not too revealing, right? I know the org likes to keep this correspondence as anonymous as possible, but I feel that’s pretty general. I’ve got a dog too, though he’s not mine. He’s a loose dog out here where we’re at. One of the other soldiers found him as a puppy and he’s rather become our mascot. He belongs to all of us really. I won’t disagree with you about the beach though. I grew up by the sea and it’s one of the fondest memories of my childhood - the only constant thing about it, really. 

As to your other questions - “Who am I?” is rather existential, is it not? Who am I? Am I really here? I’m just a bloke fighting for his country, I suppose. I too like to read. I’m also interested in a particular sport that allows me to let off a lot of steam. It’s my therapy, really.

When I’m not working, I’m either thinking about work, having nightmares about it, or wishing I was anywhere else, really. Your letter took my thoughts from it all, even if only for a short time. I apologize if that sounded a little heavy and I truly don’t mean to put any pressure on you to write back. I appreciate you taking the time to write to me. If I don’t hear from you again, I wish you all the best in your journey. 

Thanks, and take care.

A soldier x.


	2. Chapter 2

_21/6/2005_

Dear Soldier,

I was both surprised and pleased to find a letter from the organization (you) in my letterbox this morning. I truly didn’t expect whoever my letter ended up with to write back, nor as quickly as you did. I hope it’s alright to say that it certainly brightened my spirits on a rather dreary, rainy day. 

I’m flattered that you found me interesting enough to write back to, though I assure you that I am not that hilarious in real life. I am, however, just as painful, if not more so.

Thank you for your validation about therapy, though sometimes I do feel like a crazy person. It just depends on the day. I’m not exactly sure how my therapist came across the letter-writing program, but she had a few options available to me, one of which included writing letters to prisoners. Writing to you seemed like the healthier option, honestly. As a result of some things that have happened, I already feel like a prisoner. The empathy would have been mutual, though the circumstances would not.

As for volunteering in the community, or near me, I'm afraid it just wouldn't have worked, at least not right now. I do enjoy knitting, so maybe I can do something with that in the future. But for now, you are the lucky recipient of my cunning wit (sarcasm, of course).

I suppose I could tell you about uni. To keep it general, I was studying humanities. I'm not exactly sure what I want to do with it yet. That's a lie. That's the lie I tell everyone. I know exactly what I want to do, but I can never seem to find the courage to say it aloud. It's one of the many things that rattle around in my head, hidden from others, because I know their opinions and judgments will be the ultimate death of the one thing that gives me even the slightest bit of hope in this mad world. So, I keep it to myself, for when I'm able to get back to the person I used to be.

That felt rather oddly poetic, existential, and depressing all at once. On to better things - your dog! What a dream! None of the responsibility, but the benefit of companionship, and he has a whole squadron of blokes to love on him. I rather do think he's received the longer end of the stick here.

As I said in my previous letter, I grew up in the country, but there's something about the sea that just feels so freeing. I can't imagine being able to grow up seeing it every day. If I lived by the sea, I'm certain I'd walk on the shore every day, until I could walk no more! I usually enjoy my drives with my dog. There's nothing more freeing than the wind in your hair, driving fast, and blasting along to old classics on the radio. That's my escape. 

I'm really very sorry that your work tends to take up your entire life. I suppose it must be difficult to live and work in the same place and not be able to leave. Dare I say, that you are a prisoner in your own way? Though I'm happy to hear that you've found some small bit of escape as I bumbled my way through my last letter. Hopefully, this one was a little more tolerable and not at all depressing (sarcasm, again).

This correspondence has been a pleasure so far and I thank you for writing back to me.

Yours,

A friend x.

P.S. I apologize for the length of this letter - Cheers!

***

_30/6/2005_

Dear Friend, 

Bumbled your way through, you did. Yet, I found your letter no less enjoyable than the first. I received it just before dinner in the mess hall and it got me through a less than satisfying meal, so a heartfelt thank you for that. I will say, despite your painful first letter, and despite the troubles you've gone through, whatever they may be, you seem to be a very kind and genuine person.

I find your perspective on being a prisoner very thought-provoking. I suppose we're all prisoners to ourselves at one point or another, are we not? But to be a prisoner to the army, I'm not sure it's the same thing. I'm here voluntarily and I knew exactly what this was when I signed on. I've accepted it for what it is and I'm thankful for it, most days.

My existence has always been...unstable at best. What better way than to continue an unstable childhood into unstable adulthood and livelihood. I've never remained in one place for very long, usually no more than a year. I live lightly and freely. I have few material possessions and a few family members, but there's never really been anything tying me down to one place. This is the life I know best. I wouldn't call it a prison. But I also wouldn't necessarily call it thriving. I exist to serve the army. Now I sound like a machine, but you get the idea. 

It seems that where I have nothing holding me down, you have everything. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that life is hard right now, though I applaud you for making the best of it and doing what you can. I think one day, you will get to the person you want to be. Not necessarily the person you once were. That person is gone, but from the ashes, someone new is born. If that is your focus, I think you will find your purpose. Only you can decide what you want to do with your life, whether that means going back to uni or not. 

The dog, a little chap named Whisper, is sitting on my lap as I write to you now. He doesn't have an official name, but most of the squadron call him “Dog.” I guess it's just our little secret. You, me, and him. He does live like a king, collecting our scraps and getting the meat bones from the kitchens. There truly is nothing like the company of a good dog. I'd never had a pet before now. Turns out I never knew what I was missing, did I?

Sadly, I must get to sleep and Whisper has to move on to the next bloke to say goodnight.

Speak soon,

A soldier x.


	3. Chapter 3

_7/7/2005_

Dear Soldier,

It feels so formal calling you “soldier”, though I suppose that's appropriate seeing as how we haven't formally met. Maybe that's the point of all of this, to remain anonymous and feel completely yourself, while not actually writing as yourself. It’s rather a sense of relief really, to be able to share some of the things I don’t share with anyone else. Though we’ve only been corresponding for a few weeks, I feel as if you are someone I’m meant to be friends with. God, I hope you don't think me dodgy, but I really am grateful that you have taken the time to write. I know you must be incredibly busy. I can’t imagine that being in your line of work is an easy task. Are you allowed to tell me what kinds of things you have to do?

As far as stability, though your life might have been unstable, it seems that you yourself are very grounded. You seem to know what you want out of life and that’s more than I can say for myself. Sometimes it takes instability to shape us into the person we want to be in the future. At least that’s what my therapist tells me. The verdict is still out on that one...I’ll have to check back in once I have it all figured out. 

It appears as though you’ve lived a nomadic life, the kind of life I could only dream of. For the most part, I’ve been in one place, or within a few hours of it, for my whole life. I’ve had nothing but stability and predictability. Which is not in and of itself a terrible thing. I have a loving family, extraordinary friends, and a path set out for me. It just feels like that path was set out by everyone but me. But, no matter. Like you said, “Someone new is born.” I shall bear that in mind, moving forward.

There truly is no greater love than that of a loyal dog, except maybe that of a horse! I haven't mentioned it, but I also have a “sport” of sorts, though it’s been some time since I’ve actually participated. I rode horses for competition when I was a wee thing. When home from uni, I’ll occasionally ride the neighbor’s horses to exercise them when they don’t have the time. It allows me to get my riding fix and flex my muscles every so often. Have you ever ridden a horse? One of the best feelings in the world.

Oh well, I’ve carried on long enough about me and my history of animals. Please give Whisper a pet and a treat and let him know that he’s to stay only with you from now on. 

Best,  
A friend x.

***

_25/7/2005_

Dear Friend, 

I apologize for the late response. I was away on a training exercise for the better part of two weeks and I’ve just now returned to find your letter.

Let's remove the formality then, shall we? We could simply refer to each other as Jane Doe and John Doe - to remain anonymous but still enjoy the correspondence. I certainly won't think you're dodgy if you won’t think I am for what I've just suggested.

I can talk about some things, not everything of course, but I'm sure you expected that. Without revealing my rank, I can say that I have men above me and below me, forgive the terms. When I’m in the field like this, I’m usually running supply trips, conducting training exercises, and standing watch. Every so often we conduct raids and rescue missions. I much prefer being off the field, as it’s then that I am able to do the job I actually enjoy. The job that challenges me. I much prefer it to combat. It allows me to use more of my logical talents than my physical ones. I get to put together pieces of a puzzle, all the while, making a difference in the lives of others. I find it less taxing and more rewarding than anything I’ve ever experienced. 

Of course, here is where I’m limited to what I can and cannot say, but when I leave the army, I hope to start my own business that will allow me to do what I love full-time. I don’t know when that will happen, or what it will look like when it does, but if I can make it happen, I can’t help but think that maybe I’ll accomplish something more. 

You’re correct in surmising that I do know what I want out of life. I’ve had this dream for longer than I can remember. But you see, I have a rather complicated family history. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make something of myself. I’ve also spent my whole life being myself, unapologetically. I know who I am and I try not to waste time molding myself to the expectations of others, but it’s hard to avoid. If someone doesn’t care for me, I move on, because they’re not worth my time. Thus, keeping with the “nomadic” lifestyle I lead, as you so colorfully put it. 

That kind of lifestyle is certainly not for the faint of heart (not at all implying this term to you, of course). If you have the means and ability, it can be both fulfilling and lacking all at once. Fulfilling in the sense that you are self-sufficient and self-dependent. Lacking in that you never really have a true place to call “home”, and you don’t always know where you’re going next. The army is like that in a lot of ways, so it suits me as a career. Though clearly, I don’t want to be here forever. 

As for your sport, I can honestly say I’ve never ridden a horse, though I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to trying. I imagine that it must be very freeing to sit on top of something so much more powerful than yourself and yet, have all the control. There must be a special bond between horses and riders that I will likely never understand, but maybe you can explain it.

Looking forward to speaking soon.  
A soldier (John Doe?) x.


	4. Chapter 4

_1/8/2005_

Dear John,

Your suggestion for the names is anything but dodgy. It’s brilliant and I’ll happily play along. Though, I have removed an additional formality and addressed you by your first “name” only. It feels more friendly that way, I think.

I, of course, expected there to be some limitations and things you’re not able to discuss. You have to keep yourself and your squadron safe from harm. Though, I assure you I would be no threat to an entire group of men such as yourself. You do keep very busy, don’t you? I imagine as a higher-up rank (of which I assume you to be, as you said there are men working below you), you don’t have much downtime, do you? I know you said in prior letters that you think about work a lot. What do you do to take you away from all of that? Besides reading my silly letters, of course. How do you take care of yourself?

My apologies if the question is rather forward. I’m always curious about how others spend their time. I have so much of it, that I get overwhelmed. I’m fairly certain if we were having a discussion in person, I wouldn’t be able to tell you three things that I’ve done today. 

The business you mentioned sounds thrilling. I can’t imagine being able to do what I love every day of my life. At least not right now. But of course, I’m not entirely certain that I have enough “real world” experience to be able to know what I love. I hope that makes sense. I feel as though I’m rambling into the void now, so let me bring myself back ‘round.

Living unapologetically is an excellent motto for life, though unrealistic for most women. We’re taught to apologize from an early age, without consciously realizing it. In fact, I’ve done it in this letter already and I’m mentally slapping my forehead for it. I find myself apologizing for both who I am and who I’m not, for things I’ve done and things I haven’t. Worst of all, I’ve apologized for things that were done to me. Not once in my life has someone told me not to apologize. I’ve always just done it and it’s always been accepted and never spoken of again. All that to say that I admire and envy the freedom with which you live. 

As for horses? Well, I don’t know how well I can explain it. It’s like you said, there are unspoken bonds and mutual trust. The horse trusts that I won’t lead him into danger, meanwhile, he presses forward and keeps the course. He trusts that I’ll guide him and I trust that he won’t kick me off or go against the signals I give him. It’s a bond like no other, except maybe for that between two humans in love. But of course, that’s an entirely different topic of discussion. Perhaps one day you’ll ride a horse and you’ll think of me, the strange girl who wrote to you and dumped all of her miscellaneous thoughts and feelings into her letters.

Please take care and be safe if you’re expected to go on any more trainings. Until next time. 

All the best,  
Jane x.

***

_7/8/2005_

Dear Jane,

I can honestly say that this was the quickest I’ve ever received a letter response since I’ve been here. I found myself wondering how you were over the past few days. Your last letter seemed more melancholy than previous ones. I truly hope that whatever you’re going through, you aren’t dealing with it alone. There’s being independent and there’s being alone, which are two vastly different things. Though I may be independent, I’m surrounded by my brothers in uniform. I hope you have someone who knows you better than you know yourself to confide in. I truly hope that you’re alright. Moving forward, please know that you can tell me anything you feel comfortable with.

Let’s see - you’ve asked about downtime. What is this downtime of which you speak? A soldier knows very little of downtime. But the moments I do get - a few moments of introspection in bed after waking up, a bit of reading time after dinner, or a few pets from Whisper while standing watch. These are the moments that I live for and the ways in which I fill my time. It may not seem like much, but it’s enough for now. 

Unfortunately, you’re quite right in your points about living unapologetically. I too find that it’s much easier for men to do so than for women. As a bloke, it’s easy for me to suggest the simple solution of, “Don’t apologize.” As a bloke with a bit of sense about him, I also know that it’s impossible to stop doing something that has been so inherently ingrained in you since you were born, especially something that was ingrained without your consent and without your realization. It’d be like asking a right-handed person to only use their left-hand to write. It’d be like asking a mother to stop loving her children. It would neither be logical, nor would it be fair. I have very little place to offer you advice, but I would like to tell you this: Don’t apologize for things that are out of your control. Don’t apologize for how you feel, for your passions, or for your thoughts. These are the very things that make us human. To apologize for those things would be apologizing for your existence, and that’s something no one should ever have to apologize for. 

As for freedom, it’s not all it’s made out to be. But when you’re ready, you'll find it, and when you find it, you’ll know it, because it will feel like nothing in your life was right until that very moment. Then things will start to make sense. Colors will be brighter, thoughts will be clearer, and things will hurt less. At least, that’s how it happened for me. I...had blinders on for a very long time. There was someone that hurt me and took advantage of me over and over and I tolerated it for longer than I should have. When I removed the blinders, things made so much more sense. Anyhow, I hope you find that sense of freedom one day.

I’ll have to take your word for it about the horses. I suppose it’s something I’d have to experience to understand fully. Being in the humanities myself, I find your proceeding thought interesting. I prefer the company of only a few select humans, yet I can seem to acquaint myself with any animal without difficulty. Humans are such complex and overwhelming creatures, but with animals, it’s much more straightforward. They’re simple, yet, not incapable of affection, understanding, and companionship. I get the feeling that you and I share a similar outlook in that regard. Speaking of, Whisper is whining for his dinner, so I’d better take him to the kitchens and see what I can scrounge up for him. By the way, he says you’re not strange. You’re unique, and there’s a difference. I am inclined to agree. 

Wishing you a happy rest of the week. 

John x.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr @hidetheteaspoons or @thegreendress.


End file.
